


A Little Time Spent with Maurice

by Michelle_A_Emerlind



Category: The Walking Dead (TV), The Walking Dead - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon verse, Explicit Language, First Kiss, M/M, Missing Scene, Season 2/3 Gap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 22:46:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3505592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle_A_Emerlind/pseuds/Michelle_A_Emerlind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During the winter, the group finds themselves holed up in a shopping center and they have to do something for entertainment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Time Spent with Maurice

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short little fic idea I thought of. Hope you guys like!

The sun hangs dangerously low on the horizon and by all their estimates, the western herd they have nicknamed 14 will be passing up along the road just three miles up. They are too spaced out to go back to the residential district they vacated last night and too tired to go the five more miles they need--up and through 14--to the houses on the other side. Besides all that, Hershel looks worn down, even though he won’t admit it, and Lori is grimacing with pain, touching her pregnant body frequently in the signs that she needs rest.

The shopping center isn’t ideal since the fronts of the stores are mostly glass, but it’s better than a campfire in the middle of nowhere so Rick nods at Daryl and watches his back as he lockpicks the Maurices. They slide into a room that, other than the dust, looks like a picture leftover from the modern world. The clothes are still pristinely folded, the cash register still firmly intact. There are even still the names of customers written in marker on whiteboards about the dressing room doors. Rick guesses that no one has wanted to break through the glass to grab a nice new skort or a set of fake pearls.

They file in silently as they always do and Lori collapses happily in one of the little couches set up for the men to wait at while their wives show off their new blouses. The group spreads out and Rick watches as Glenn and Carl check out the back as is protocol and nod to the rest of the group. Carol walks back with them and takes the stack of candles and oil lamps they have found, starts sitting them up for the darkness of the employee only area without windows. T-Dog eyes the front of the store suspiciously and start picking up and shuffling the larger furniture into the back. Rick follows them and examines the racks of clothing set up by size, the tables there for folding, but little places for seating. He gets out of T-Dog’s way as he carries in a squeaky, but comfortable looking armchair and Hershel starts unfolding a stack of chairs set in the corner. Maggie and Beth start carrying stacks of T-shirts to the middle of the room and piling them up as cots.

Daryl, for his part, just ambles over to one of the racks, the crossbow hanging limp in his hand, but more than ready should anything spring out. He picks up a price tag on a blue dress and lets out a hard little _psssh_ sound. “Eighty bucks,” he tells Rick and shakes his head.

There is a tiny little shuffling sound from the doorway and Rick tenses, halfway to his gun, before he sees Lori sliding through the door and collapsing in the chair that T-Dog has brought in. T-Dog smiles at her and touches her arm lightly. “Bringing in that couch,” he tells her, “nice place for you to sleep tonight.” He nods at Glenn, who leaves to help him and soon, they are all settled in place.

They go to their stores of food and Carol and Beth ration out the water bottles and the find they are still working on from three days ago--an entire basement stuffed full of chili cans and chicken noodle soup like someone thought they were going out of style. They have a brief discussion over a fire, but decide against it. They would have to build one outside or close by the windows and doors for ventilation and with the herd being only a couple of miles away, no one wants to risk it in case they have wandered off of their normal course.

Not that they do, though, Rick thinks. Walkers are dangerous and numerous, the end of the world. But they’re stupid and predictable, too, and they like to work in straight lines. But still, even he doesn’t want to risk it. So they sit in silence and eat their cold chili, each one deep in their own thoughts as the fact sinks into their bones that they have lived one more day.

They finish their meal and the silence becomes not companionable or necessary, but dull and awkward. Of the whole entire day, these are the hours that Rick hates the most. The times when their survival settles in around their shoulders heavy and thick and someone inevitably tries to break through the survival type living with something “fun” like poker or 20 questions or even, once, truth or dare. Rick finds it tedious and unfulfilling. Nothing will ever be like it was before. Why pretend?

It’s Maggie’s turn to be the entertainer and everyone knows it. They cycle through each other unofficially like clockwork, so she stands and looks around the store and gets that wide, charming Irish smile spread across her face. “Lots of dresses,” she says and examines the rack, “settin’ up for summer, I bet. I know what we’ll do. We got enough light...let’s have a fashion show.”

Everyone blinks at her and Rick wonders if he could just go to bed early and sit this one out, but then Carol stands, her smile strained, but supportive. “What a nice idea,” she says, “I haven’t ever had the chance to put on things that are as nice as this.” She reaches forward and grabs the sleeve of a sparkling green dress in her hand, rotates the fabric between her index finger and her thumb. “The girls can give it their all and the boys can judge. Right, Lori and Beth?”

Beth jumps up, eager to join, but Lori shakes her head. “No,” she says and the mere sigh of her voice grates on Rick’s nerves like a thousand ants crawling over his spine. “I don’t think I could wear any of this and I’m tired anyway. You girls go.”

Maggie looks at the three of them. “Not much of a show, but we’ll give it our all.” She smiles brilliantly and catches eyes with Glenn, holds his gaze until her smile hardens into something mischievous and conniving. She crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows in a look that is so purely challenging Maggie that Rick thinks even a picture wouldn’t do it justice. “I think we need more participants,” she says, her voice drawling and country. “Glenn, get up here. You’ve got a nice figure.”

Carol snickers and motions for Glenn and Glenn balks at the two of them, shaking his head fast as a jet engine, his face flooded in red. “N-no,” he sputters out, “I’m not wearing a dress.”

“You, too, T-Dog,” Carol says, growing bold, “Get up and put one of these things on.”

T-Dog mirrors Glenn’s motions, shaking his head and bubbling down into excuses. They try to rope Rick in as well and he shakes his head softly, says he’s the leader, so he should be the judge. All the boys shrink back into their seats and avoid Maggie and Carol’s looks and Rick can see that the girls have almost given up when Daryl pushes away from the wall that he’s leaning on and gives T-Dog and Glenn a searing and judgemental glance, the corner of his mouth arched up.

“Pussies,” he says and turns to the girls, “afraid of a _dress_.” Maggie whoops in glee and hugs Daryl, who only flinches slightly under her arms and Carol smiles and pats him on the shoulder. The three turn and, with Beth, start looking through the racks.

T-Dog jumps up at the challenge that Daryl has offered as well and all Glenn needs is a look from Maggie and a “if you REALLY loved me” to join in the festivities. Rick rolls his eyes at all of them, but smiles, thinking of Daryl and his anomalies. He casts his mind back to Daryl at the farm, the flinching looks he gave Rick when Hershel peeled away his shirt after he’d been shot by Andrea to reveal the old, delicate scarring across his midsection. He thinks of Daryl distancing himself from the others, refusing to touch, refusing to be anywhere but on the periphery.

But things are different now. The heat of the summer is gone, the fall is almost over, and Daryl has become the glue that holds them all together. It’s not Rick. Not anymore, even if it ever was. It’s Daryl, Daryl who stood up for him, for all of them, after the farm and after Shane. Daryl, the one that told everyone they were stupid if they thought about leaving. Daryl, the one that told the group that Rick did have honor, that said that Shane had killed Randall, that poured out support in his eyes, in his body language, in his presence gravitating toward Rick like Rick was the center of some kind of solar system and all Daryl was was a tiny moon.

It was Daryl who participated in these things, not Rick. It was Daryl that was 20 questions champion, that was worse at poker than what everyone had thought he’d be, that stood up and danced on one foot, bobbing his head like a chicken at Hershel’s dare. It was Daryl that was the center of attention when the sun went down, so shy and reserved during the day, but so lit up at night in the presence of his family.

Rick smiles as he watches Daryl take the blue dress off of the rack that he had examined earlier. He sits back with Hershel, Carl, and Lori and he and Hershel discuss how they’ll judge and decide to grade each participant on a scale of one to ten and rock-paper-scissors if there’s a tie. Lori looks everywhere but at Rick and the action is so typical that he can’t even be surprised by it. He’ll never look at her again, either, not if he can’t absolutely help it and they both know that. They both know that is there were things like lawyers and judges and courtrooms, they would be a decided matter.

Maggie is the first to come out, sporting a red little strapless number that accentuates her legs. She’s found a long chain necklace to accentuate the dress and she’s put some hoop earrings in as well. She gives a fun little number and then T-Dog follows her, looking big and muscular and _unhappy_ , the way too paisley grandma-dress bunched tight across his midsection.

Carol follows in a little white dress with a frilly bottom that she can’t help twirling around and smiling like an idiot and Rick thinks if nothing else comes out of this, at least Carol will have felt pretty for one day in her life. Beth follows in a yellow dress that Rick thinks was a poor choice for fashion as it looks more summer-sun than catwalk.

And then Glenn. Hershel takes in a breath and nearly chokes in surprise and Rick blinks at the fact that man has a _figure_. The silver dress he’s chosen with a nice V-neck actually accentuates his body and Maggie--Rick knows it must have been Maggie--has put him in some nice black boots and a pretty red necklace that she’s found that gives him just a pop of color. Rick grunts and thinks 9, always room for improvement, but shit.

He’s about to write this all off as easy judging, Glenn haven taken the cake, when Daryl walks out, his hips swaying in such a purely _sex_ way that Rick wants to reach over and slap a hand across Carl’s eyes in parental supervision. The dress is fucking _fine_ , one of those kinds that has sleeves that hang off the shoulder--little strips of fabric on the upper arm. It’s short and glowing and _slinky_ , cutting off halfway between Daryl’s waist and his knees and it’s tight against the body that slithers under it.

And it’s blue. So _blue_. It was blue on the rack, but against Daryl’s skin, against the tan lines of his legs and his arms, against the little dip of his throat and his Adam’s apple, against his hair getting longer by the day, it looks so brilliantly _color_ in a way that Rick had never imagined he would see before. It looks HD, it looks crystal clear, it looks photoshopped fake. And his eyes. _Fuck_ , his eyes. The dress makes them pop out like one little slice of brightness in a black-and-white photo.

Rick has never seen eyes like this. He has never seen _Daryl’s_ eyes like this. He has never seen _Daryl_ like this. He thinks of dresses, thinks of Lori’s prom dress, her wedding dress, the black number she wore to the charity gala that one time. He thinks of how he took them all off of her, the fabric sighing against the softness of her skin, perfumed and light.

He thinks of what it would be like to take this dress off of Daryl.

It wouldn’t be soft and it wouldn’t sigh. God, no. He would _rip_ the thing off of him, feel his hard muscles and the stubble of his jaw. Feel the flat plane of his chest, the jut of his hips, the roughness of his skin that was apocalypse worn and gritty. It would be _Daryl_. It _is_ Daryl, Daryl underneath all of that. And Rick blinks at the sudden want flooding his veins that has never been there before. The sudden desire to take a man and have him. The sudden need and pure lust boiling in the pit of his stomach.

Daryl winks and Rick isn’t entirely sure if it’s at the _judges_ or if it’s at him, specifically. But he can’t really find it in himself to care. He shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat, returns to the task he’s supposed to have at hand.

Glenn wins by a landslide, everyone giving him tens but Rick. Rick pouts and he can’t really understand why.

***

The next morning shows that the shop is still secure and with Lori still wiped out from the last couple of days of running, they decide to hang tight for the day. Rick and Daryl pack up and decide to go out on a run, always searching for someplace more permanent and secure. They’ll scour any houses and shops they find for supplies as well. The group goes through their standard protocol, labeling three meeting places in order in case anyone gets separated and then Rick and Daryl leave, hopping in the green hatchback.

Daryl drives and they pull away, drive slowly through this shopping center and the one half a mile down, looking for anything interesting. Everything that could have been of use is picked clean. And everything that is left unscathed is more clothing stores and frivolous things. They do find a Bath and Body, half-wrecked but with enough merchandise to grab a couple bottles of soap and a set of candles to replenish their supply.

They head further away from the group, curving into another set of businesses that’s mostly medical and legal offices. They check out a couple of the clinics, manage to scrape together some basic supplies that others have left like bandages and peroxide. Their jackpot for the day is a tiny little hardware store that’s not well advertised and so has not been picked clean. Daryl whoops with joy when he finds that the little breakroom has someone’s stash of Hershey bars packed into it and they stand outside with their backs to the car, eating the melted chocolate and smiling like loons at the sweet taste.

Rick leans back against the passenger’s side door and watches Daryl leaning against the hood beside him as he licks his fingers when he’s done, putting them in his mouth all the way to the second knuckle and sucking, hollowing out his cheeks to get every last scrape down his throat. He sees Rick looking and arches an eyebrow, chucks the wrapper into a nearby garbage can as if that will do any good and pulls out one of his last few precious cigarettes, lights it, and turns so that he can bend over, rest his elbows against the hood and watch the way that Rick isn’t watching for 360 degrees of coverage.

He sucks on the cigarette, pulling smoke into his lungs and looks up at Rick, his eyes sliding into slits as he smiles with his eyes even though his mouth is full. Rick smiles back and thinks about Daryl’s smoking and how he never does it with the group. Rick knows that it’s for Lori and the baby even though he’ll never say it, would never admit it.

Rick looks back at the hardware store and sighs, thinking of the color blue instead of the rusted world around them. “Should of won,” he says and starts licking his wrapper clean.

Daryl arches an eyebrow at him. “Won what?”

“Last night,” Rick says, scoffing. He chucks his wrapper after Daryl’s. “You were _so much_ better than Glenn.”

Daryl laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He pulls the cigarette away from his mouth and looks at it in the sunlight. “Think so?”

Rick hmms at that. “Never told me you had such legs.”

Daryl looks up at him and tilts his chin up in acknowledgement. “Never knew you were a leg man.” He grins. “Want me to keep it?” he asks and takes a long drag. “Stick it in my bag for later and give you a private show?”

Rick chuckles. “Wouldn’t be much of a show with how fast I’d take it off of you.”

Daryl blinks and stills, his languish laissez-faire attitude suddenly tense. Rick blushes just a tiny bit and sticks his hands in his pockets, looks down at the concrete beneath his boots. They have done this before--simple little quibs, tiny flirting gestures. But if one does it, the brother code kicks in and the other responds with a circular motion that brings them straight back to platonic. Rick thinks briefly of Carol, of all her longing looks at Daryl and how Daryl dismisses them with a simple kind of innocence that belies his utter lack of interest in any kind of woman. Rick has known. Rick has always known. But he’s never _responded_.

He’s responding now, though. He has. Daryl clears his throat and stands up straighter, the cigarette forgotten in his hand. “Didn’t know you were into that,” he says, simply, his tone the perfect balance between playful and serious--enough so that if Rick says this was all a game he can back away and say of course, that’s how he meant it. But enough, also, for Rick to realize the intent there.

“Didn’t think I was,” Rick responds evenly, letting his voice be as hard as the road underneath them. “Am though.”

Daryl looks over and nods at him, gives Rick a small little quirk of his eyebrow and then puts the stub of the cigarette out, crushing it beneath his boot until it’s nothing but ash. He slides down the car closer to Rick, but looks off in the distance again. “Am, too,” he says and Rick reaches out.

It’s not like touching a woman. Rick doesn’t curve his fingers softly against Daryl’s cheekbone, doesn't hold his fingers just above the skin, feather light with want. Instead he reaches out and puts his hand on the juncture of Daryl’s neck and shoulder, squeezes as if this is just platonic, but feels Daryl’s pulse like a metal bassline, thick and heavy. Daryl leans into him and Rick lets his touch anchor him to Daryl and then Daryl turns his body toward Rick and Rick turns his body, too, and they are face-to-face. Rick slides his hand up into Daryl’s hair, pulling harder than he ever would with Lori. He watches Daryl’s eyes widen, watches his lips part, and then Rick leans forward and meets him just as Daryl arches up.

Daryl’s lips are chapped from the Georgia sun and his stubble scrapes against Rick’s jaw. He feels more than hears Daryl take in a sharp breath against his lips and then Rick is moving them, is pushing Daryl back against the car and he hears, as if in the distance, the slam of Daryl’s back against the metal. Daryl opens his mouth for him and Rick worms his way in, explores the curves and molds of Daryl’s mouth and body, their tongues intertwining, their bodies slid together, Daryl’s hand on Rick’s hip and Rick’s hand in Daryl’s hair. It’s rough and it’s hard, but it’s exploratory, too. Passionate.

Lust strikes through Rick’s body lighting fast, little tingles breaking out across his lips and his hands, his shoulders and his hips and his elbows and his toes. It’s been so long since he wanted like this, since he desired with this kind of dedication.

He pulls back slowly and blinks, sees Daryl’s startlingly navy eyes shining at him. Daryl smiles and ducks his eyes down to Rick’s mouth. “Bring that dress next time we do a private run,” he says, his voice low and husky. “Let you bite it off of me.”

Rick grins and growls back, moves to kiss Daryl again, but one little twitch and nod lets Rick know they have company. Daryl pulls his bow from by his side, shoots the Walker that’s coming and Rick takes out the two across the street that are close by. They throw the remaining things from the hardware store into the car and pull off, headed back to the others.

But even though the run is over, Rick knows that what happened between him and Daryl isn’t. It’s just the beginning and even though the world they live in is harsh and cold, he has this. He will always have this.


End file.
